Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“Here you go,” says the bartender.
Yeah, here he goes, all right.
I don’t even grab the glass yet. I just stay like this, since it’s the best I’ve felt in ages. Curling his hand tighter, Asher grips my hip, hard and possessively. I groan under my breath. My God, how will I withstand reenacting a single Troliver kiss when a simple touch already turns me on this much?
Somehow, I manage to reach for the tequila and knock it back, then put the glass on the counter right as Asher circles the pad of his thumb over my hip bone.
“Oh hell,” I mutter, dipping my face for a few seconds, then meeting his gaze.
He licks the corner of his mouth, stares wickedly at me, then parts his lips like he’s about to say something.
Before he can speak, I jump off the cliff. “Dance with me.”
His grin is filthy and makes my cock throb. “I thought you’d never ask,” he says, and with his words, the last remaining smidge of nerves turns to ash.
I step toward the dance floor first, and he’s right behind me, his hand on my back again, and it’s borderline possessive, like he’s signaling to everyone else that I’m here with him.
We weave past patrons⏤they’re bumping and grinding, kissing and shaking⏤and find a spot near the edge of the dance floor.
In a heartbeat, he moves closer to me, his body swaying to the slow and sexy beat of the music. He looks good on the dance floor.
I’m not a dancer, but I don’t think I need to be. This isn’t a team sport. It’s one-on-one, and I can do that. I mirror him, my hips swaying, shoulders grooving.
Asher stares at me, mesmerized.
There are only inches between us, and that seems like too much. I edge closer, my thigh brushing against his.
“Yes,” he murmurs, but I can’t hear his words. I can just make out the shape of my new favorite one on his lips as we dance, slow and sensual.
His hands are back where he seems to like them—on my hips—and it’s probably a prelude to how he wants me, and that’s fine by me.
Everything is just so fucking fine right now.
I don’t touch him yet. I’m still not quite sure what to do with my hands, but I’ll figure it out soon.
As our thighs touch, our knees graze too, and we’re dangerously close. But not quite close enough. I want to erase that last bit of distance.
I take chances every day at work. Iron balls and all.
I lift my hands, and finally put them where I want.
On him.
Then he’s the one looking blissed out as his eyes float closed. I take that as my cue to explore him more. My hands coast down his arms, traveling over his smooth skin, hot from the club, covered with the faintest sheen of sweat.
I like his sweat.
I want more of it.
I get closer, my right thigh wedging between his legs as my hands travel up and down those strong arms. His eyes open and he stares like he can’t get enough of me.
Of the way I’m touching him.
It’s illogical to think I’m any good at this.
But logic has left the club.
I don’t need to be rational right now.
I can be . . . impulsive.
And Impulsive Mark listens to Captain Filthy Mind, who says to just grind against the superhot wingman.
Here I go.
As I press my crotch against his, we dance in a whole new way.
And it is insane.
We become all these other guys in the club, and I’m finally having what I want.
This wasn’t even on my spreadsheet. I never put dirty dancing on my list.
But already, this is the sexiest thing I’ve ever done in my life, as our hard cocks rub together through our clothes.
It’s mind-bending.
It’s circuit-frying.
It’s so fucking good, I hardly know what to do next.
I just don’t want to stop.
So I don’t.
I dance unabashedly, shamelessly, with a man in a club in Miami.
For the next few songs, our bodies collide, hands, limbs, arms, legs. But soon, it’s not enough at all.
I have to have more. I rope my hands around his neck, then bring my mouth to his ear, my jaw brushing along his as I go, electrifying me. He hauls my crotch closer to his, letting me know that whatever I’m going to say he’s already given me his yes.
But he speaks first. “Mark,” he says, loud enough for me to hear. He hardly ever just calls me Mark.
I pull back. “Yeah?”
“I wasn’t teasing you in your bedroom. Not one bit. I was dead serious. Still am.”
I needed that. “Good. I’d like to change my answer then.”
Then I show him my yes.
I smash my lips to his, and my world ignites.
Colors burst, my brain goes haywire, and my entire body thanks me for giving in at last. He tastes incredible, and I feel amazing.